Chapter 2 A debt in blood

Wesley's POV

The alley smelled like piss, fear, and desperation.

The narrow walls loomed over us, the single flickering street lamp barely casting enough light to make out the features of the man we had cornered. His back was against the wall, his chest rising and falling, sweat running down from his head despite the cold air.

He was in his early twenties, maybe, but that was not important now. Betrayal had no age restriction.

I took my time walking forward, my polished luxurious shoes tapping softly against the pavement. "You stole from me," I said with a calm voice. "Which means you thought you could outsmart me."

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. His gaze quickly shifted to my men-Luca, Victor, Lazaro, and Danny, who stood behind me like shadows, preventing any chance of him escaping.

"I-I have no idea what you're talking about," he stammered.

I sighed. "That's the best you've got? You had plenty of time to come up with a lie and you chose to deny it?

He pushed himself harder against the wall, knuckles pale as he tightened his fists. His breath was quick, shallow. I could hear it, the erratic rhythm of a man who knew his time was running out.

"Where's your friend?" I asked, tilting my head. "The one who helped you."

He refused to answer me. I studied him for a moment, then took another step closer, my presence suffocating the small amount of space he had left. "You know how this goes. You tell me what I want to know, and maybe...I let you leave here breathing."

It was a lie of course, but he didn't need to know that yet.

His eyes flickered, something calculating behind them. Then, in a last, pathetic attempt at control, he moved.

A flash of light-

The idiot went for his gun but before he could even raise it, a shot rang out.

He let out a strangled cry as his leg gave out beneath him, blood soaking through his jeans. He hit the ground hard, clutching his thigh where Danny's bullet had torn through muscle and bone.

I let the silence drag as he writhed on the ground, his gasps bouncing off the alley walls. Then, I squatted down, placing my elbows on my thighs. "Having done what was in your mind, let's give it another try. How did you do it?"

He let out a shuddering breath, his fingers tightening around the wound. "We...we paid off one of your drivers," he admitted, his voice trembling. "He let us into the warehouse. Took what we could carry and ran."

I nodded, unsurprised. There was always someone willing to sell their loyalty for a quick payday.

"And your partner?"

The man hesitated. His jaw clenched like he was weighing his options like he had any. I gave him a few seconds, then reached inside my coat, letting my fingers brush the handle of my pistol.

His resolve shattered instantly. "Carlos! Carlos Mendes!" he blurted out. "He's hiding at the docks!"

I let the name settle in the cold night air. I could hear the hope in his voice now, the desperate belief that telling me what I wanted to know would make me spare his life.

It wouldn't.

I stood up, pulling out my golden pistol. The weight was familiar and comforting.

"Please, man," he whimpered, raising a trembling hand. "I told you everything-"

"You stole from the wrong man."

I pointed my gun at his head and pulled the trigger.

The gunshot echoed through the alley. The body slumped and blood pooled.

I turned away before he had even stopped twitching.

"Clean this up," I ordered.

Luca, Danny, and Victor moved in immediately, dragging the corpse toward the dumpster in the alley. Lazaro exhaled, spinning his gun on his finger before holstering it. "Shame. The guy could've lived a little longer if he had stolen from another man."

"Not my problem," I muttered, already walking toward the waiting car.

An hour later, I was home.

The iron gates of the Thompson estate opened without hesitation, the guards stationed at either side giving me a respectful nod as I passed. The driveway curved in a perfect arc, lined with towering marble statues and pristine rose bushes.

The house...no the fortress stood like a monument of power, its towering columns and carved stone making it clear that only the strongest survived here.

Inside, the air smelled of expensive cigars and aged whiskey, a blend of wealth and tradition. The heavy chandelier cast a golden glow over the polished floors and the distant hum of classical music played from somewhere deeper in the house.

The weight of the night lingered on my shoulders as I entered, the remnants of blood on my sleeve a stark contrast to the luxury around me.

"Long night?"

Jason was waiting for me, leaning lazily against his doorframe. His arms were crossed, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The hallway light cut sharp shadows across his face, highlighting the resemblance we both shared with our father.

I ignored his smirk and walked past him, heading toward my room. He followed, as always.

"You handled it?" he asked.

I unbuttoned my bloodstained shirt, tossing it onto the chair. "It's done."

Jason gave an approving nod. "Good. They needed to be reminded of their place."

I took a clean shirt from the closet and put it on my shoulders. Jason observed me, the same mischievous glint in his eyes.

"You know he wants to see you, right?"

I paused mid-button. "Who?"

Jason scoffed. "Who else? Dad."

I exhaled slowly, the tension in my shoulders tightening.

Jason clapped a hand on my back, his smirk widening. "Good luck brother," he teased. "Try not to piss him off too much."

I didn't respond.

He chuckled, disappearing into his room and leaving me alone in the hallway.

The hallway to my father's office was longer at night. The heavy wooden doors at the end stood like sentinels, carved with intricate symbols of dragons and wolves, representations of our family's rule.

I straightened my back and adjusted my cuffs. I knew what was coming, a lecture, a reminder. Maybe even a warning.

But that didn't stop the weight in my chest as I lifted my hand and knocked.

"Enter."

My fingers curled around the handle.

I took a breath.

And stepped inside.